


Outed

by I May Age Regress (shnuffeluv)



Series: Other Side [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Age Play, Gen, Insecure Mycroft, Non-Sexual Age Play, Outing, Sherlock is Cruel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 08:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6277546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shnuffeluv/pseuds/I%20May%20Age%20Regress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock finds out about Mycroft's hobby and...let's just say he's not receptive. Probably not the best read if you don't handle bad reactions to accidental outing well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Outed

Mycroft was relieved when he got to move out to Uni. For 2 years, his parents had put up with his "bed wetting" and secret trips to the chemist's to get his latest supply of nappies. But he could never shake the feeling that his parents were suspicious. Maybe he was just paranoid, but he could have sworn that several times his mother wanted to take him to a doctor to see if something was wrong. Every single time, his blood ran cold. Away at Uni, with his own dorm room somehow, he didn't have to worry about anyone finding out he wore nappies while studying or when he went to bed. He rather enjoyed this newfound freedom. He was thus sitting on his bed in only a diaper and sucking on a dummy while studying when someone barged into his room. He looked up, petrified to find Sherlock standing in the entrance of his dorm room, the very definition of stunned. The brothers stared at each other for a few seconds before Mycroft snapped out of his stupor enough to slam the door behind Sherlock. "You're not supposed to be here!" he hissed.

"Mycroft..." Sherlock said slowly, "What are you wearing?"

"It's a nappy," Mycroft said testily. "I have a problem bed-wetting at night, all right? I'm not proud of it. Now _get out_!"

Sherlock just scrutinized him. "No...that's not it," he said. "Especially not because of the dummy in your hand. You...ugh! Is this some sort of...fetish?"

Mycroft wrinkled his nose. "Ew. Don't be disgusting, Sherlock!"

" _You're_ the disgusting one, Mycroft! What are you, a pedophile?!"

"It's not like that, Sherlock!" Mycroft insisted. Because, to him, it wasn't.

"Don't lie to me! You're sick, Mycroft! All of this," Sherlock waved to Mycroft's state of dress, "Is sick! How Mummy and Father could create a monster like you is beyond me!"

"OUT!" Mycroft yelled, shoving his brother into the hallway. "NO ONE SPEAKS TO ME THAT WAY IN MY OWN DORM!" He slammed the door shut and slid back against it, burying his head in his knees. Well, that couldn't have gone worse if he'd tried. This was why he never wanted to tell Sherlock. He looked at his dummy and scowled, throwing it across the room. Of all the ways for Sherlock to find out, it had to be this way. He was probably going to tell their parents now. Would Mycroft even be allowed back in their house? He doubted it. He took a deep breath and let it out shakily, starting to sob. Sherlock hadn't said anything that he hadn't already known, but to know it was one thing. For your brother to say it was another. He shuddered breaths in and coughed them out. There was a knock at his door but he ignored whoever was on the other side. He didn't want anyone else to see him like this.

He crawled across the room and reached for his dummy, lying on the ground in a fetal position and sucking on it once he found it. He felt a building pressure in his stomach and he cried harder. He couldn't handle being an adult today, processing his brother's words. Warmth spread through his nappy and he sobbed. Everything was too much. His door opened again and Sherlock walked in, closing the door behind him. "I need to hide from security," Sherlock said simply.

Mycroft didn't say anything, just continued to lie prone on the floor, sucking his dummy.

"Your nappy's soaked, you realize," Sherlock said, disgust clear in his voice.

Mycroft didn't say anything, just curled in on himself further. He needed to poop, too, but he was scared to. He'd never gone that far down before, and he didn't want to do that in front of Sherlock.

Sherlock sighed and forced Mycroft to sit up. Mycroft whined at him and tried to lay down again. "Grow up," Sherlock spat. "Or I'm telling Mummy about this."

Mycroft felt his eyes well up with more tears. "Don't, pwease," he begged. "Pwease..." he shuddered. "They jutht think I wet the bed. Don't teww," he begged again.

"And why shouldn't I? They'd finally get you the help you so desperately need."

"Sherwock...pwease. Thith ithn't pedophiwia or anything. I jutht feew more comfortabwe as a baby. Ith that tho wrong?"

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. "It's disgusting, is what it is. How can you just sit in your own waste like that and not want a change? You're messed up in the head, Mycroft!"

He went to the door, listened, and when he heard nothing, left without another word. Mycroft leaned back and took what Sherlock said in. He laid back down on the floor and sucked his dummy more, not crying as much but petrified at the thought of Sherlock outing him to his parents. He knew he was disgusting, why did Sherlock have to bring it up to him again? He curled in on himself and cringed as cramps hit him. He knew he couldn't make it in time to the bathroom in his state. He got up and sat on his heels, forcing himself to focus on his warm diaper, and make himself feel _so_ little, littler than he had ever felt before...

The poop came out naturally and tugged the material of the diaper out to make a very feelable (and, Mycroft was sure, noticeable) bulge. The poop mashed against Mycroft's feet and into his skin, and he cringed, knowing there was more to come. He pushed, hard, and managed to finish relatively quickly. Then he got up and went to changing himself. A wet diaper was one thing to deal with, a messy one was something he really didn't want to be in for long. He was about to grab another diaper to change into when Sherlock's voice rang in his head: _You're messed up in the head, Mycroft!_ and he reached for a pair of pants to finish his studying in instead. He didn't like the thought of it, but what choice did he have? He had to prove to Sherlock that he could be okay, if he didn't want the idiot to tell on him.

An hour back into his studies Mycroft was rewarded with his phone ringing. He groaned, got up, and picked up the corded phone that was his line in the dorm. "Joe's pub. What can I get for you?" he joked.

"Mikey, it's your mother," his mother said. "Sherlock has been spinning some tale about you liking baby things and wearing them in your dorm room when he visited you today. Is this true?"

Mycroft said nothing and was impossibly thankful his mother couldn't see him flush red in anger. "I have no idea why he'd say that," he said evenly.

"Mikey, it's all right with your father and I if you like these things. We may not understand, but we want to support you however we can. Really, it's all right."

This was his chance. He could tell his parents everything, the urges he'd felt for years, why he'd always sucked his thumb as a child, everything and anything, and his mother said that she'd be there for him. But he couldn't. Not after Sherlock saying what he did. "I wish I knew what he was talking about, Mummy," Mycroft said. "But all Sherlock saw was me dealing with my nighttime issues and misconstruing it. I'm sure he's just overreacting. This is why I didn't want to tell him ages ago."

His mother made a noise in the back of her throat. "Are you sure? Don't lie to me, Mycroft," she demanded.

"I wish I could help. Really," Mycroft said. "Sorry." He hung up and stuck his dummy in his mouth, giving it a hard suck. "I'm thowwy..." he whispered. "I'm thowwy you had to raithe thuch a freak..."

He cried himself to sleep that night, and didn't dare return home for weeks, even on the weekends. He couldn't impose his freakishness on his family.


End file.
